The Simple Life of Fred Weasley
by SlytherdorsFTW
Summary: AU story, Fred and George meet Hermione just before they go to Hogwarts. The simple meeting creates an entirely new time-line, changing Fred's story. I'm awful at summaries, sorry!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello! This is my re-start of Master of the Hallows, which I realised didn't make much sense without some kind of background before hand, so I give you The Simple Life of Fred Weasley!**

**I know I've already changed it a few times, but I'm trying to perfect my story, so reviews for improvements are very welcome and I will try to improve my writing if it's too confusing or you think it could be better somehow.**

**Cheesestring xx**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise, even though I wish I did.**

The story begins

There's a small village in the outskirts of Essex, where those who know of magic, whether they are the relatives of muggle-borns who failed to inherit the spark that magic needed to thrive, squibs or perhaps even wizards, though this is a rarity. At the moment, only one wizard family lives in the safe confines of Mayerdale, where they can practice magic freely without worrying about the clueless muggles realising there was another world right under their nose. It's this family our tale revolves around, the little family who live in ivy cottage, the last little house on the third row. Ivy cottage, which was number 7, although all of the villagers knew it as ivy cottage because of the thick layer of ivy which hid the red bricks of the cottage under a coating of silvery leaves, was often visited by an army of red heads, though they prefer to stay secretive rather than mingle with other residents.

It was a strange little house; the cottage's garden was an oddly wild despite the tamed attitude the residents kept towards it. The grassy lawn was moan every month or so, keeping it green and short, but the large oak tree in the centre was surrounded by what seemed to be large weeds and the paving stones had grass poking through the gaps between the slates. Tonight, the full moon glistens in the sky, flooding light into one of Ivy Cottage's bedrooms, where an average height man curled up with his wife in a deep slumber. The room its self is painted a deep scarlet with a fluffy, hazel carpet and gold borders while the bed had red, silken covers and deep brown pillow cases; clearly these people were Gryffindors. At the foot of the bed lay a small King-Charles Spaniel with hazel and cream fur that had grey flicks scattered across it and dried mud up his legs. The little dog, whose red collar tells us his name is Rollo, whimpers as a white figure walks into the room, a figure that belongs nowhere and everywhere at once; a figure that should be have been in the halls of Hogwarts.

The figure appears bruised and weak, though he may just be underfed. The ghostly man creeps around the floor, his feet never really touching the floor while his messy hair flows in a non-existent wind. He moves his right hand, which clearly has words etched into it, though his image is blurry so the words are un-readable. In fact the only clear feature in his entire image is a thin lightning bolt scar just visible beneath his fringe and the only coloured feature he holds are a pair of vivid, green eyes. This figure isn't dead, you can tell by the especially faded presence his 'ghost' has, though he clearly isn't living either. It's as if his body is frozen in time and his soul has escaped to prevent his mind from cracking under the pressure being in such a state creates. He walks towards the woman, apparently much to the dog's annoyance, as Rollo stands and growls at the figure, who grins back at him in reply. The figure strokes the woman's face, making her smile and lean into his touch as if she's missed him, although she visits his comatose form often. He sighs and climbs across the bed, pausing over the man with a sad smile before hopping of the bed, soundlessly. The figure kneels beside the man as the dog whimpers and as the man takes a deep breath and rolls over in his sleep, the figure being breathed in too, his faded form disintegrating into dust-like particles while the man simply splutters in his sleeping state. With that, the room returns to its previous, peaceful atmosphere, allowing the sleeping couple to dream without any further disturbances for now, though the dog moves to lie besides the woman, his paws making a faint padding noise across the floor.

A wind howls around the quite room, rattling the windows and thus ending the deep slumber of the man. It was nothing new; he'd always been a light sleeper, which was unfortunate now, but it was useful during the war. He shivers at the mere thought of the word. That war, it still haunts his nightmares and the only thing that calms him after those terrible dreams is the tender grasp his beloved wife holds him in while he shakes and cries. As if she hears his thoughts, his wife turns over in her sleep. The slight snore that escapes her lips as her hands seeks out his body makes him smile at her, his shaggy ginger hair falling into his glittery blue eyes as he scans her body, his gaze fixating on the deep scars in her arm for a second, which causes him to frown fiercely, before they rise to her frizzy curls, which are spread across the bed behind her like a bushy brown halo. How did he get so lucky? He wonders that often, as does his wife but neither knows the answer, not really.

Then again, the picture on the bedside table gives them a clue. It's an old picture of a younger version of his wife in a very familiar forest. He'd grown up just through there, on the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole in a crooked house with five brothers and a baby sister. She, on the hand, grew up in London, living above her parents' dental practice, where she used books to find a place she belonged, a place filled with magic and fantasy. She hadn't known that world was real, not until she turned eleven, but he was born into it, though as a consequence he began his life during war. His earliest memory had always been his mother's screams when she found her brothers dead, screams he had mimicked when his best friend and brother had lost his ear. The mere thought of the memories sends a crippling shiver down his spine. Of course, he'd spoken to all of his brothers about his dreams- or most of them at least- and every time, he'd only feel guilty for bothering those who had been through just as much, if not more, bringing back that pain that bombarded them whenever they thought about anything remotely close to the thought of those events. The more he thinks on the matter, the more he thinks of what his decisions did to them and although most are good, there are some horrible things happened to people he loves because of him.

He's awake now, though he wishes he wasn't. In his dreams, his sister is still alive, married to the boy she loved. In real life, the duo haunts the halls of Hogwarts, unable to come together until their spell is broken through some almost impossible prophesy only he and his wife know. Another long story he didn't even know the entire truth to. A voice in the back of his head told him things would be explained soon enough. He sighs and looks back at his wife, _his _beautiful, caring wife. At least he got his fairytale ending. He has his beautiful princess who, right now, is carrying their first born while his twin and sister-in-law await the arrival of their first born too. His store remains unharmed, though rebuilt, in Diagon Alley as well as his new store in Hogsmeade while the Death Eaters, or what's left of them, rot in the new, dementor-free Azkaban prison. He sighs with content as his eyes close and after a while, sleep takes a hold of him again. Yes, Fred Weasley has a perfect life now, but it hasn't always been like this. In fact, his life only really began to improve when he was 11.

Yes he'd always been happy and his life had been good, but he had never met anyone outside of his large family. He and his twin, George, had always longed for another companion, one who would laugh at their jokes and play with them without judging them as 'blood-traitors' as the people in Diagon Alley had once. Though that's not what led them to the woods that day, the day they met Hermione, but Fred couldn't be happier with how things turned out with her, at least. He smiles in his sleep and pulls Hermione into his chest, his arm draped across her waist naturally while her legs intertwine with his. He knows what's going to happen, his story is going to be told, even the parts he didn't know himself, the parts that he didn't witness but still made him the person he is and all his sleeping mind can think is 'at bloody last'.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Sorry this took so long, but I've had a busy couple weeks, so excuse the lateness and here's the next chapter :'}**

**Cheesestring xx**

**Disclaimer: Not Mine!**

An Unsuspecting Victim

Summer was drawing to an end and as Fred approached his first year of Hogwarts the time began to drag. On this particular day, he and George found themselves sitting beneath a large oak tree in the depths of Ottery St Catchpole's forest, discussing what Hogwarts would bring them (though both twins avoided the subject of what would happen if they were to be separated by the mysterious sorting ceremony). This was after an especially long adventure, during which they'd managed to form some kind of gnome catching system. Of course, it was the first test of their newest invention and after a series of failures during the testing of some simpler gnome repellents, the twins' buoyancy was riding on the trap's success. However, as the day dragged on, both boys found themselves lounging in trees like a pair of sloths simply to avoid the effort of moving in the extraordinary heat and neither could be bothered to check on their invention until the sun had settled just below the tree line. It was at this point George, being the more alert of the two, began to climb down from his perch among the higher leaves to hang upside down from a lower branch, much like a bat, as he debated a route to get home that avoided the boggier areas, which had come about after the heavy British downpour from the earlier weeks. Concentrating on this, he didn't notice Fred slip from his own perch to sit beside him and when his twin poked his shoulder to catch his attention, George jumped, which made him fall from the tree with a loud thud, scattering scared birds from the surrounding trees.

George peeled himself off of the floor, rubbing his elbow where he had hit it as he glared up at his laughing twin, pouting slightly at the pain spreading up his lower arm to form yet another bruise. Fred chuckled at his twin's expression before hopping effortlessly out of the low branch to join George on the dusty ground. He then checked George for any major damage and when nothing was found, he sighed in relief for his mother wouldn't kill them. With a relieved sigh and a chuckle from George (who found his twin's concern rather reassuring, if he was honest), the duo dragged themselves up and shock themselves off like a pair of wild dogs, before grinning mischievously at each other, for the trap was to be checked now. This invention wasn't as innocent as their previous gnome repellents, but was in fact a prank in the making. More accurately, it was their farewell prank- the last one to be performed at home before Hogwarts started and the twins learned more mature tricks. As usual, the prank was meant for Percy (though it had been meant for Ron before he accidentally got in the way of a hair dying prank and spoiled the twins' plans) to allow him some involvement with the family after a long summer locked in his room. Obviously, their mother wouldn't see it that way and the chances of being grounded were high but for a worthy cause, especially since it involved Percy wearing a tutu, if Bill kept to his promises at least. Not one to dwell on the more morbid side of life, Fred began to run towards the trap to keep his mind off all the possible downfalls of this particular prank. Fate, however, had other plans and with a loud, girlish scream their plans of avoiding the more difficult parts of the forest where dropped to investigate.

Now, it is widely known the twins were born into war, in fact their mother often blames this fact for their mischievous nature, although it is certainly the reason they go running into danger to protect others rather than themselves. This was a side they didn't show often as kindness is often exploited and both boys would not allow such a thing to happen. So they hid their kinder side unless what ever happened had horrible consequences for all involved, the universal sign for which is a scream similar to the one that echoed through the woods at that moment, scattering wildlife as it echoed through the woods. Fred ran as fast as he could, shortly followed by a stumbling George as he sprinted ahead like a wild stallion, his ginger locks swaying slightly as he ran, tripping on tree roots and being scratched by stray branches, leaving droplets of scarlet blood on leaves and bark which shimmered in the sunlight to create a trail. George managed to avoid the branches; though doing this caused him to stumble over tree roots, setting dark bruises into his pale, freckled skin across his arms and legs. The forest had not finished fighting the twins' efforts, its thick pools of mud swallowing their feet and trapping them in their place until they could gather the strength to heave themselves out while the leaves that would usually offer shelter in such blistering heat created a greenhouse around them, trapping the heat so they sweated like pigs. Their feet began to drag as their throats dried out and when they finally reached the tiny clearing where their trap sat, neatly tucked away between tree roots so it would be un-noticeable to both gnomes and consequently people, the pair fell to the ground in an exhausted pile, not seeing the origin of the scream.

Their rest didn't last long, as a squeaky voice echoed around them. "Help! Oh God help" it croaked, fear palpable in every syllable "I don't know what's going on, please help!" Fred exhaled quickly as he pushed himself up, shortly followed by George, whom inhaled instead, breathing in the cloud of dust that created a wall around them. With a quick glance at a chocking George, Fred stifled a chuckle as he cleared the fog in their way. There, just beyond his reach, dangled a small, pale girl with frizzy, thick, mahogany curls that just touched the floor, her ankle ensnared by the tight rope of their trap which tightened as she wriggled to free herself. This being such a ridiculous sight, Fred couldn't help but laugh, falling to the ground, clutching his stomach, shortly followed by George. The girl glared at the pair, whom she dubbed imbeciles under her breath. Little did she know, she had just met the boys who would become two of her best friends in the world.


End file.
